


Christmas

by the_years_between_us



Series: Lamplighter [2]
Category: The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_years_between_us/pseuds/the_years_between_us
Summary: Stella and Reed attend a Holiday Charity Ball.





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficlet born from a prompt on Tumblr. It was supposed to be longer so maybe there’s a Part II coming soon. But for now, I wanted to give you a little Christmas gift with some visual aids (you can find them on my Tumblr post - I'm there under the same name).
> 
> Like most of my Stella/Reed stories, this still fits in the Lamplighter cannon sometime after my story ends. A little fast forward if you will.
> 
> Huge shout out to my beta, Nicole, who puts up with my constant meltdowns.

Tonight is nothing like the holiday work functions of Belfast Christmases past. 

 

There’s no sad tray of Christmas biscuits in sight or tacky decor dotted with candy canes and reindeer. Those parties always encouraged some awkward version of Secret Santa wrapped up with a frightening hangover and the taste of over-sweet eggnog still pungent the next day. Somewhere in her not-so-distant memory, she can almost hear the staticky hum of Christmas carols played over the local radio station while everyone discussed their plans (or lack thereof) for the holiday season. 

 

This year, all of those nightmarish traditions have thankfully been left at the door. 

 

Looking around, it almost feels like she’s been dropped into a dreamscape as bright and expensive as champagne. Thousands of fairy lights sparkle overhead while equally shiny and ornamented people mingle around her. A glamorous exercise of wealth and status, everyone’s dressed to the nines and she supposes that’s to be expected. It’s a Charity Ball after all. But taking in her lavish surroundings, it still leaves her somewhere between childish awe and vague nausea.

 

They’ve got a fucking ten piece band for Christ’s sake.

 

Standing alone in a silvery dress that drapes down to the marble floor, Reed finds that she’s at least grateful to look the part. She remembers the thrill of selecting her dress from a variety glimmering options, running her fingers over the fine needlework with thousands of lustrous beads shimmering up at her. When she’d tried it on, the fabric slipped so perfectly over her body that she couldn’t help but feel more attractive than she’d felt in years. And deep down, she knows that some former version of herself would ache for this opportunity to play dress up in a winter wonderland, Christmas music floating nostalgically through the air while couples twirl on the dance floor.

 

It  _ is _ lovely, she concedes. 

 

So lovely that it could in fact be a dream. 

 

At this point, she almost hopes to wake up with a sharp headache and the memory of cheap eggnog on her tongue. It might be a relief compared to the painful let down this evening is turning out to be. And she should’ve known really. No fantasy, not even one this dazzling, could possibly live up to the reality.

 

She sighs, turning to her impromptu companion as he finishes whatever important thing he was just saying. Fingers fidgeting with the stem of her champagne flute, she hopes that she hasn’t been too obviously rude, tuning in and out of their conversation while her eyes wander the room. He’s nice enough after all, and he’s saved her from the potential embarrassment of complete abandonment. Perhaps she should welcome his attention… It might give her a much needed boost, something to ease her lingering desire to simply leave without a second thought. 

 

Smiling at him, she does her best to feign interest in his story, as if she’s soaked in every detail of the fascinating tale - an emergency medical surgery gone wrong.

 

“That’s incredible,” she says, hoping to have gotten away with it.

 

“Truly,” he responds with a smile of his own and yes, it’s worked. 

 

Thank god.

 

Scolding herself, she thinks that she should be flattered because he’s actually quite attractive, even more so when he smiles like that, leaning forward and-

 

_ Oh, no. _

 

He’s about to hit on her.

 

Of course he’s about to hit on her. She’s standing there alone in this stupid dress, projecting a misleading air of singleness and giving him her undivided attention (or so he’d like to think). Naturally he sees an opportunity that isn’t there. 

 

An embarrassed heat breaks out over her neck and suddenly she feels incredibly naive. Like somehow this is her fault or that she’s to blame, as if anyone’s to blame for the mere circumstance of a situation. But then she stops herself because she’s already blamed herself for too much this evening and instead, she tries to think of things to say; cushioned rejections and well-timed niceties. Anything that might save her from lying awake tonight and staring ruefully at the ceiling while she regrets absolutely everything. 

 

Then just as he’s about to speak, the room falls commandingly quiet and he stops, looking away in confusion. Eyes swiveling towards the conveniently placed stage at the head of the ballroom, Reed breathes a sigh of relief. On stage, the band rests for an elegantly tuxedoed man tapping comedically at the microphone. Scattered applause then breaks out over the room as his booming voice welcomes everyone to “a magical night.”

 

Reed drains her champagne, unsure if she’s been anxiously awaiting or anxiously dreading this moment. She hopes it will calm her nerves either way because she doesn’t have much of a choice.

 

Next to her, the inappropriately loud clatter of crushed ice has a few people turning their heads. Glancing over, she sees him - her faux suitor - taking out his frustration with a small plastic straw on the remnants of his Old Fashion. A tight smile pulls at his mouth when he catches her eye and Reed struggles not to laugh at the transparency of his disappointment. She has no doubt that his ‘big move’ uninterrupted would have been smooth and perhaps even tasteful, the finest example of a gentleman’s come on. 

 

Poor guy doesn’t know how little it mattered to begin with. 

 

Then for a brief moment, Reed can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. They could both use better luck tonight and with all things considered, maybe it would’ve been nice to hear it, to be asked… whatever it was he’d been about to ask her.

 

Biting her lip, she turns away, shaking the thought from her mind as the room erupts with applause, echoing throughout the chamberous room once more. And then there’s Stella, stepping onto the stage and settling herself at the mic.

 

She looks beautiful.

 

Reed can’t help but notice, even with her state of mind bruised and bitter, it’s all she sees as Stella stands there with the poised smile and grace of a classic film star. Holding her breath, Reed watches as her eyes scan the crowd, pausing to land on Reed before she clears her throat and begins to speak. Self-consciously, Reed swipes at her hair and it’s a useless compulsion because there’s a thousand pins holding it all in place, part of some elegant updo that she’ll probably ruin at this rate. God, she’s annoyed. It’s absolutely foolish that her body should always betray her this way - continually flushing at the sight of her. 

 

At least she’s used to it by now, having already battled it earlier this evening back at Stella’s flat. 

 

_ “What’re you gaping at?” Stella muttered over her shoulder, turning towards the mirror to fasten a delicate earring. “You act like you’ve never seen a woman in a suit before.” _

 

_ And it’s true. Reed’s seen Stella in a suit before. A casual one. But it couldn’t have prepared her for this moment; it was nothing compared to the sleek silhouette she was looking at now. And Stella must’ve had it made. Custom. The brief roll of her shoulders revealed a deep crimson lining and Reed struggled to keep her jaw screwed shut. _

 

_ “I know,” Reed finally responded. “I just - wasn’t expecting…” _

 

_ Held in the reflective glass, Stella’s eyes caught hers for a brief snagging moment before she turned to reach for a small bottle of perfume, dotting it on her wrists with cool indifference.  _

 

_ “Are you going to get dressed?” she asked, her voice icy with irritation. _

 

_ And, well. _

 

_ Yes. _

 

_ Struck silent by her glacial demeanor, Reed hadn’t known what to say. She’d understood that tonight would be hard for Stella, and she’d prepared herself for it even. But apparently she’d underestimated Stella’s ability to be an absolute bitch over even the most mundane things.  _

 

_ Biting back a number of caustic remarks, Reed decided to focus on getting herself together instead of adding to the duress of the evening. She’d unzipped the slinking material of her dress and put it on proudly, hoping that it might distract Stella from her mood. Of course it hadn’t though. It didn’t seem to make a lick of difference whatsoever - she could’ve fucking worn sweatpants for all it seemed to matter. Stella barely looked at her, let alone spoke to her before they arrived at the venue, then promptly left to address a few last minute details. _

 

It’s got Reed wondering how much she’s supposed to forgive in the name of Stella’s grudge toward the holidays.

 

She’d asked her about it a few weeks ago, late one night as they’d fallen asleep. It was a quiet moment, hours after she’d extended an invitation for Stella to spend Christmas with her and the girls, an invitation that was met with surprising apathy. Quickly changing the subject, Stella had shrugged it off and left Reed to wonder about the details of her relationship with yuletide tradition.

 

“I’ve never seen much of a reason to care,” she’d said later that night. 

 

“Not even growing up?”

 

“Well, off course,” she’d sighed into the darkness, turning onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. “But that was a long time ago.” And then there’d been silence, Reed taking her hand and ghosting over her fingers in a soothing gesture.

 

Several minutes passed before she’d spoken again. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“It could be nice,” Reed had offered hopefully. “To start a new tradition, make some new memories.”

 

Then there’d been silence.

 

And Reed hasn’t dared resurface the topic since. 

 

Pushing Stella on seemingly insignificant subjects always resulted in unfortunately significant bouts of silence followed by even more unfortunate reveals. And thankfully Reed understands Stella enough by now to know the difference, to wait her out and hold her close and move through these inconspicuously tender topics with a gentle hand and a forgiving heart. 

 

She just hadn’t expected it around Christmas.

 

So imagine her surprise and Stella’s absolute dismay upon being entrusted with such an important role in executing the Met’s Holiday Charity Ball. Nominated by her superior, Stella had told Reed that she didn’t really have a choice, that it was purely political - a punishment really. And it shouldn’t have shocked Reed to hear that Stella viewed it this way. She didn’t like to be forced into doing anything, let alone things she considered trite and ostentatious.

 

Like a Charity Ball for example.

 

Yet here she is after months of grueling and self-proclaimed “hellish” work, preaching its accomplishments on stage before hundreds of people, and Reed can’t help but feel proud of her. Even if she’s been a complete ass tonight. 

 

“Can I get you another drink?”

 

Reed startles, an unexpected hand grazing her arm as she sees the face of her jilted admirer coming closer. Surprised by the sudden invasion of space, she blinks at him, a bit distracted by his eyes, which are strikingly green at this distance, wide and waiting.  

 

“I’m sorry, what?” she whispers, thrown off by his proximity. And she really wishes she could remember his name. Brian maybe? Or was it Blake?

 

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks again, leaning closer this time, whispering in her ear as he tries and fails not to detract from Stella’s speech. “I’m going to the bar, what can I get you?”

 

“Oh,” she says with a small laugh. Is she flirting with him? Or is he just so close that it feels like she’s flirting with him? “I’m fine, thanks.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asks intently, his hand still touching her arm. 

 

She looks down at it and presses her lips together.

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“Alright,” he says with a coy shrug of his shoulders before disappearing into the crowd. And she looks at him dumbly as he walks away, unsure of what just happened. Maybe she should’ve taken him up on the drink. It certainly feels like she could use another.

 

Shifting uncomfortably, she looks back to the stage and is met with the unmistakable ferocity of Stella’s gaze boring down on her, the ring of her iris ablaze with something unreadably lethal in its intensity. Immediately, Reed’s heart flutters, skipping a beat under the weight of her stare. 

 

And then it’s gone. 

 

Stella shifts focus so seamlessly into the masses that Reed almost wonders if she’s imagined it, if it’s not all in her head. She’s already wound up, edgy and irritated. It’s probably nothing. 

 

Probably.

 

* * *

 

It’s loud as she steps down from the stage, the band blaring behind her with another inane ballad as clapping patrons praise themselves for the evening’s success. 

 

She’s ready to leave.

 

Then again, she’d never been ready to arrive.

 

She’d hoped the tux would help, even if it sent a few eyes glaring. The thrill she’d felt perusing fabrics and picking out the cut, even the muslin fitting and routine alterations had her feeling slightly euphoric. She’d stood in front of the mirror as her seamstress nipped and tucked, feeling pleased with the craftsmanship and admiring the attention to detail. It was impeccable - it had better be after the price she’d paid for it. Because if she was going to be coerced into headlining this event, she’d do it on her terms and in her own fucking clothes. 

 

Black and chic, the suit flattered the svelte build of her frame and certainly passed for black tie appropriate. Smoothing down a lapel, she could almost see the eyebrows raise in her direction and narrowed stares of judgement. Tack on her girlfriend in attendance? Well, suddenly the thought of showing up almost seemed bearable.

 

And she would relish it, she thought, the chance to embarrass them for imposing this on her. 

 

Yet when the night finally arrived and she’d put on the garment, still beautifully constructed and exquisitely polished, it did nothing for her. Absolutely nothing. And she’d been devastated because how was she supposed to get through this night without some kind of shield? This brand of armor typically worked for her. Fortified by hand-stitched seams and emboldened with an elegant jacquard weave, she could usually fool herself into getting through anything. Even just for a night.

 

But tonight she felt entirely plain.

 

Plain and miserable. Completely fraudulent. Not even the visage of Reed in her glimmering gown, gorgeous and patient, the very picture of everything she loves about her, could have saved her from it.

 

Fucking Christmas. The complete bane of her December.

 

And it’s not that she hates the holiday on principal, although she should. Pagan rituals adopted by corrupt religious establishments and modernized for the sake of excess consumerism certainly didn’t  _ do it  _ for her. No, astonishingly enough, it wasn’t even that. What bothered her was the lawlessness of it, the memories that sprung up so jarring and sudden - the forced confrontation of it all. 

 

Usually she’s fine to let the season pass without notice or care, short days whisked by in a blur of glitter and garland. Then gone. Barely time to blink. Only this year it’s turned into something else entirely.

 

She should’ve seen it coming. 

 

Perhaps a little foolishly, she’d hoped that this new development in her life, this still-present and unexpectedly serious relationship with Reed, wouldn’t be affected by it. But of course it would be. Because Reed has small children and small children love Christmas - she realizes that it’s only natural. And however divergent it might have felt, she should have pushed aside her disregard for the holiday and put on a brave face. Because while it’s uncomfortable and often inconvenient, she knows that she adores those girls. True adoration that fills her up and makes her think that she might be capable of normalcy - the good kind where relationships are loving and reliable. Undeterred by decades-old trauma.

 

But then there are evenings like this.

 

And Stella wonders if she’s capable of anything at all.

 

Making her way through the amorphous crowd of beneficiaries and do-gooders, she spots Reed easily enough, the shimmering vision that she is in a haze of frosted candlelight. And she desperately needs to apologize to her.

 

Her stomach twists at the thought. 

 

Asking for forgiveness is never easy but she’s especially not looking forward to this one. How do you apologize for things that will undoubtedly happen again? It doesn’t seem fair to do so. And yet she wants to believe that against all odds, maybe she can change...

 

Deep down, she fears that she already knows the truth. That it’s impossible.

 

It makes her want to say things, to tell Reed that she deserves someone who can be in a relationship without so much trouble. But the thought of it also so terrifies her. Because she’s told her before, more than once.

 

And one day she’s bound to agree with her. 

 

Preparing herself for the inevitable, Stella eases around shoulders and slips through the gaps of intermingling guests. But then there’s something tugging at her elbow and she turns around to see her boss, Jo Spencer, looking at her expectantly in a refined navy dress. It blends in a little too perfectly with the pretentious party-goers and Stella briefly wonders if she was bread for this sort of thing.

 

Then as if on cue, she’s giving Stella a definitive once-over, eyes traveling down to the tips of her shoes, and Stella can’t tell whether she’ll be pleased or disappointed by her choice in attire. She doesn’t know whether she wants her to be pleased or disappointed by it, or if she wants her to be anything at all.

 

“You’re looking sharp this evening,” she says around a mysterious smile and it’s frustrating because Stella can rarely read her. But before she can respond, the woman’s continuing with an appreciative glance around the room. “I wanted to thank you for doing such an excellent job this evening. You’ve done well.” 

 

“Of course,” Stella says with a weary tilt of her shoulder, readying herself for the lie. “It’s an honor, really.”

 

“Hmm,” Spencer hums, looking at her for a moment longer than necessary and it has Stella’s lips pursing, irritated by the scrutiny of it. “I saw you with your guest earlier,” she says and it’s casual, too casual. “She’s lovely.”

 

“Yes,” Stella grates out, unsure why it should make her so uneasy. “She is.”

 

“Professor Reed-Smith?”

 

Ah, there it is.

 

_ How does she know that? _

 

“It’s Tanya Reed now,” Stella corrects a little defensively. “Still Professor.”

 

“Huh,” Spencer replies with a small nod and everything about her is vague, noncommittal.

 

“Yes,” Stella says with her jaw jutting forward, curious as to why Spencer would bring up Reed this way. And it’s more than small talk because they’re all detectives here - there’s definitely something else at play. It’s unsettling. How would she know her name? Of course it appeared several times over the Paul Spector case files. Surely somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Spencer recognizes it and is making it known. But why?

 

Should Stella feel ashamed? Is that it? Another case, another person with whom she’s managed to become tangled. And it’s optics, something Spencer likes to keep her eye on, but it’s also bullshit. Because Reed’s different and this is nothing like those times before, unwarranted lectures from Spencer over her  _ conduct _ during investigations. 

 

Perhaps Stella’s overreacting and perhaps she’s reading it all wrong, but she’s never taken well to intimidation tactics or veiled threats, especially those aimed at her personal life. 

 

“We’ve been together for some time,” Stella informs her evenly and watches as Spencer absorbs the admission with quiet resolve. Whether she’d already known it or not is unclear. 

 

Eventually she says, “I’m happy for you,” with a decidedly warm tone and Stella marvels at the sincerity of it.

 

After all, she’s a woman who says what she means.

 

“Thank you,” Stella’s voice comes out smaller than she would’ve expected and it’s mortifying. But Spencer just smiles a knowing smile.

 

“Enjoy your evening, Stella.” 

 

Then she’s gone, leaving Stella to waft uncomfortably in this unknown territory. Because she’s not sure what to make of it or if there’s anything to make of it at all. It could all be as simple as that, a genuine gift of well wishes. Or it could come back to bite her in the ass.

 

Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

 

Competing feelings of gratitude and resentment fight for dominance in Spencer’s wake as Stella continues moving towards Reed. And when she sees her, a strong flare of jealousy emerges at the sight of her.

 

This fucking guy.

 

Overly familiar, this man - the one she’d seen from onstage - has his hand hovering over the small of Reed’s back as she listens to whatever the fuck he’s saying. And Stella’s not normally prone to territorial fits of jealousy but something about him pisses her off. Then again, she’s already fucked up the majority of Reed’s evening and maybe she should just leave her to it, let her laugh or flirt with whoever she wants. She certainly looks happier than Stella’s seen her all night. Maybe she owes it to her. 

 

Or maybe he should keep his fucking hands to himself.

 

More determined this time, she pushes her way across the room, bridging the gap in a matter of seconds and sidling up next to Reed. Without thinking, she makes the snap decision to reach over and take Reed’s chin between two fingers, leaving just enough time to register the wrinkling brow of What’s-His-Fuck before kissing her soundly. 

 

It’s immature. She knows this but she can’t find a reason to care.

 

Once the shock wears off, she feels the soft pressure of Reed’s lips against hers and pulls back, hoping that her eyes convey the endless apologies that she surely owes her, this recent transgression included. Because all she manages to say is “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Reed responds with guarded reserve, a wary look on her face as she leans away awkwardly. “You were great up there.”

 

“Thank you,” she accepts, not much caring how it went at the moment, her only goal focused on fixing everything she’s ruined over the last few hours. “Sorry to interrupt. You just looked so stunning, I couldn’t help myself.” 

 

_...and it was cruel of me not to tell you sooner... _

 

Reed holds her gaze for a long reactionless beat before she turns toward her admirer, introducing him with a brief explanation.  _ Oh, this is Blake. We were just talking about whatever-the-fuck and isn’t it so funny because just last week we’d been discussing- _

 

And then it’s white noise.

 

Stella hears the faint roar of blood rushing through her ears, her skin prickling over in a cold heat as she watches Reed deflect. She’s deflecting and she’s good at it, carrying on with this forced air of civility and seemingly untouchable. It’s painful to watch because Stella knows the reality of the situation too well and above all, it means one thing: She’s fucked. Message received loud and clear. 

 

“How about that,” Stella tries to say without sounding insolent, but it fails even to her own ears. “Blake was it?”

 

“Yes,” he says, extending a hand with a grin on his face. And it’s newly smug, lit up in the way that some men’s faces  _ just do _ upon encountering two women that love each other. If possible, it makes her hate him even more. Reluctantly, she shakes his hand for Reed’s sake, trying her best to be cordial when he compliments, “Great job up there.”

 

“Thanks,” she says brusquely, knowing that it’s all she can manage without being a complete asshole. And she needs to get Reed alone. Now. She can’t continue to stand here, talking to this man like everything is fine, watching Reed entertain him for the mere sake of avoiding her. “I’m going to steal her for a dance if that’s alright,” she says, directing the question solely at Reed even though it’s not really a question at all. It’s a statement, telling rather than asking, and Reed simply looks at her, the ambiguous arch of her eyebrow her only response.

 

At least it’s not a ‘no,’ Stella decides.

 

Taking her chances, she slips her fingers through Reed’s and pulls her away. And Reed follows with a contrite, “It was nice to meet you,” thrown over her shoulder as they leave.  _ Nice to meet you _ . Sure. Stella fights the impulse to roll her eyes, more than happy to leave Blake’s cheshire face and forward hands firmly behind them. 

 

Then they’re on the dance floor and all Stella wants to do is hold her close, disappear into her touch and just forget that this night ever happened. But as she takes the lead, a hand wrapping around Reed’s glittery waist, she’s met with nothing more than a stiff sigh. 

 

“That was embarrassing,” Reed says, still visibly upset with her. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“Are you?” she asks scathingly. “You seem pretty intent on it.”

 

“Intent?”

 

“On embarrassing me. I didn’t have to come,” she points out, her voice wavering. “I told you that I didn’t have to come, especially if you didn’t want me to.”

 

“I wanted you to -” 

 

“You could have fooled me.”

 

And then Stella opens her mouth to respond but quickly thinks better of it, biting her tongue. Knowing herself, she needs to take a minute to get this right. Otherwise the next thing out of her mouth is bound to be needlessly unkind and extremely counterproductive to any attempt she might make at an apology.

 

And none of this is Reed’s fault. 

 

She needs her to know that.

 

“Listen,” Stella begins unsteadily and she already hates this, the low sound of her own voice teetering precariously over each word. “I could list a hundred things to apologize for this evening...” 

 

Reed looks away from her with a small shake of her head and shit, she’s bad at this. She knew she would be but she’s already floundering. And she needs to get a hold of herself and make an effort here. She can’t keep doing this.  __

 

_ Just try. _

 

“I know I’ve been horrible,” she admits, not wanting to curtail the truth, no more pretext or explanations. “I - I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry.

 

“Truly.”

 

Reed looks back at her, hurt lining the hard brown curve of her eye as she asses Stella’s confession. And it feels like an eternity before she speaks but when she does, it’s more gentle than Stella deserves. “I know these things are hard for you,” she says. 

 

Unsure about whether Reed’s referring to apologies or parties, the holidays or something else, Stella doesn’t really need to know. “It shouldn’t matter.”

 

“I know it shouldn’t,” Reed acknowledges a little sadly, tucking a piece of Stella’s hair carefully behind her ear. “But it does.”

 

Reed’s words hang mournfully between them as they move quietly across the floor, and then to Stella’s absolute horror, she feels a surge of emotion well up inside her. Even though she’s desperate for Reed’s absolution, she’s also acutely aware that she hasn’t earned it. Devastating, the realization that she may never earn it hits her hard, and her throat clenches painfully at the thought.

 

Embarrassed, she closes her eyes in a vain attempt to will her tears into submission. And like a comforting shield, Reed sways forward and rests her forehead against Stella’s, protecting her face from prying eyes. Gratitude sweeps through her, overwhelming the already fraught hollows of her mind, and Stella so badly wants to be worthy of her kindness. 

 

“I love you,” Reed whispers reassuringly and in those three words, Stella hears her forgiveness as well as something else.

 

If this is going to work, she’s going to need to try harder. Sure, Stella’s already compromised and sacrificed parts of herself that she’d never thought possible, but it’s not enough. This thing between them is going to require more. More than she knows how to give. 

 

But she’s willing to try.

 

And that’s something.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stella repeats, unable to say anything else. 

 

“I know,” Reed says simply.

 

At a complete loss for direction or control, Stella does the only thing she knows how and moves her face towards Reed’s, kissing her in an abrupt change of pace. Because she’s not great at apologies or promises but her body knows what to do without fail. It always has.

 

Sometimes, she fears, it’s all she can do.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Stella mumbles into her mouth.

 

“Now?” Reed asks, hesitantly melting into her touch but melting all the same.

 

“Yes,” she says with a peck and moving to Reed’s ear, closing her lips around the dainty crystals of an earring and grazing it with her teeth. “Let me make it up to you.”

 

“Stella…”

 

Then her tongue takes an exploratory dive into the shell of Reed’s ear, eliciting a distinct shudder and Reed’s grip tightens around Stella’s shoulders in response. 

 

“Let me...” she pleads, pulling away to look deep into her eyes.

 

And when Reed looks at her, Stella sees her future whirling there. Bright and illustrious.

 

Waiting for her.

 

“Okay.”


End file.
